


Take My Hand

by merae2888



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merae2888/pseuds/merae2888
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Bellamy and Clarke comfort each other and one time they don’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This started out super sweet, because I felt like I needed some Bellarke happiness in my life right now, but by the end, I just decided to break my heart instead. 
> 
> Warning: Angst Ahead! Read at your own risk!

I.

Clarke stands on the outskirts of the bonfire. Kind of ironic considering it was her idea to roast the pig that Bellamy had speared earlier and she’s basically the co-leader of these rag-tag fuck-ups but life isn’t some neatly knotted story. She blows into her hands, resisting the urge to push through the gaggle of drunken kids to get nearer the flames. They all look happy, an accomplishment in itself and Clarke fears her interference, no matter how small, might look like ‘mom’ butting in to break up the party.

 

It’s got nothing to do with the fact that Raven’s sitting on Finn’s lap, sharing slices of meat with him and stealing kisses between each bite.

 

Nothing at all.

 

She pulls her jacket sleeves down over her hands before tucking her arms around her middle, holding in the meager warmth she still has.

 

The wind’s been picking up and she might be new to Earth and it’s various patches of unpredictable weather but she’s also pretty sure that the strength of these gales is unusual.

 

Bellamy finds her, holding out a tin cup as he walks up. “You look colder than a witch’s tit.”

 

She snorts, too cold and miserable to muster up a cutting response.

 

“Drink this. It’ll warm you up.”

 

She straightens, drops any physical hint that she might be less than perfectly comfortable. “I’m okay.”

 

Bellamy gives her a look, one that is too shrewd even if they’ve established a bond and trust with each other. It’s still new, this whole depending on him rather than fighting against him thing and when he does shit like this, it makes her feel off-balance. He looks at her like he’s never not known her, like he can unfold the corners of her mind and read every insecurity and hint of jealousy and she snatches the cup out of his hand so that she can tilt her head back and hopefully dislodge his probing gaze. The moonshine makes her cough and splutter and Bellamy chuckles quietly as she glares at him.

 

His hands are huge, wrapping completely around the cup, covering her fingers and sending a pleasant wave of heat through her icy fingers. She can’t help the gasp that escapes her from the sudden shock of warmth. Clarke balls her hand into a fist as he withdraws, trying to hold onto the heat for an extra second.

 

Bellamy smiles slyly as he drops his head. “You feel better, Princess?”

 

She sighs, hating the words that are to come. “Yes, thank you,” she says reluctantly, the moonshine settling pleasantly in her belly.

 

Her eyes fall on Finn and Raven again. He’s got both her hands in his, rubbing them together fast, creating heat through friction. Raven smiles affectionately and it’s obviously a long held tradition between the couple and Clarke’s eyes burn with the effort to hold in silly tears.

 

Bellamy clears his throat and Clarke drops her eyes. She’s so transparent and she hates being that way in front of him. He already sees too much.

 

“You hungry?” He indicates the line of people queuing up for second helpings of meat. “That bastard was huge and it’s already almost gone,” he says, irritation creeping into every word.

 

“I’m sorry. We should have preserved some of the meat, I know, but-“

 

“They all look stupidly happy.” Bellamy surveys the drunken delinquents with a fond scowl.

 

“It’s an encouraging sight,” says Clarke, watching the way Jasper was laughing with Monty and Octavia.

 

“Why don’t you go closer to the fire?” Bellamy asks suddenly and it’s only then that Clarke notices her teeth are chattering.

 

“I don’t want to break up the party.”

 

“That’s stupid,” Bellamy says angrily.

 

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she snaps. Nothing gets her riled up faster than when Bellamy is being a dick. She doesn’t know why that is and isn’t sure she wants to figure it out.

 

“C’mere,” Bellamy says, but it’s almost as if he doesn’t really want her to.

 

“What?”

 

He sighs, annoyed, and spins her around so she’s standing in front of him, effectively disrupting her staring session of Finn and Raven, and pulls her hands up to his mouth.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

He rolls his eyes in response while he cups his large, calloused hands around hers. Her freezing fingers are suddenly engulfed in a cocoon of warmth. He blows hot breath into her cupped palms, making her shudder. His thumb starts caressing her knuckles and everything is suddenly charged when he tugs her closer. “Bell-“

 

“Just trust me, for once.”

 

“I do,” she says automatically. Bellamy smiles and it seems unforced. She could sketch this face for hours. She’s got enough doodles of his frown anyway.  

She’s still staring at the way genuine happiness transforms his face, melts away the tense lines of his mouth and softens his gleaming eyes, when he opens his jacket and wraps her arms around his back, under the fabric that could be steaming from the heat of his body. A respite from the bitter cold fills her with relief and she doesn’t mind at all when Bellamy pulls her flush against him and her head winds up tucked under his chin. He unzipped her jacket at some point and was now navigating his way around her body, enveloping her in his strong arms and all his glorious heat, sending warm shivers down her arms as his fingers dipped under her hair and caressed the back of her neck.

 

“Friction works well, but the best way to get warm is with body heat,” he explains softly and even his breath feels like fire as it blows by her frigid ear.

 

“Stupid Finn,” Clarke quips, figuring its better to admit that she knew he’d seen her staring than allow him to speculate all night.

 

“Yeah.” His own eyes are on Finn, who’s staring at them with blatant, ugly jealousy etched on his features while Raven looks up at the stars. “Stupid Finn,” he echoes and holds her a little tighter.

 

II.

 

“This is the last time I’m asking.” Bellamy leans forward, his ever-present scowl directed at Clarke. She looks up into dark, flashing eyes, her own suggesting that his presence was not welcome. Through gritted teeth: “Do you want any help?”

 

It’s not about appearing weak. It’s about the essential foundation of their relationship that she can feel shifting and she can’t have that. Ever since that night when she’d begged him to stay and offered up her forgiveness like it could make him whole, things had changed. Touches were given freely and easily, a hand on the shoulder to garner her attention, fingers against his arm when she wanted to show him something, and then the moment by the bonfire kept creeping into her dreams, lighting her up from the inside out.

 

And here he is again, albeit frustrated but still patiently waiting for her to realize what she’s known since the instant her skin ripped open on the rough rocks in the creek. Laundry on Earth is a dangerous sport. Her left hand had split open, turned the cold water crimson and now she was attempting to wrap the throbbing laceration with her non-dominant hand and the bandage that had been made from one of Bellamy’s old tattered shirts was trailing on the dirty floor and she desperately needed to get the damn thing secured before she bled anymore.

 

He’s her partner, the person she looks to whenever the shit inevitably hits the proverbial fan. They can’t fuck it up.

 

With monumental effort, the last shred of distance between them gets stripped away as she thrusts her hand out to him. He kneels beside her like he was always there, cradles her hand like it’s a miracle. The tent is unbearably hot, suddenly.

 

He wraps the wound with deft fingers, ties it off and she gasps when his rough knuckles brush over her wrist. “Too tight?”

 

She shakes her head. Any words could be dangerous right now.

 

Clarke could never explain why this is more intimate than the night when he’d held her fireside but it is. Maybe it’s because they’re alone, maybe it’s because he’d been the first to rush over when he saw her bleeding, maybe it was the way he insisted on following her, to make sure she was okay.

 

He presses her hand between his palms. “There.” His voice is gruff. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  

 

She shakes her head again. _Not bad at all._

 

III.

 

Bellamy pushes harder than ever after they blow up the bridge.

 

The wall they’ve been planning since day one is almost complete and everyone wants the damn thing done, partly for protection from the grounders, mostly so Bellamy will shut the hell up about it and leave them alone.

 

“I’d say two more days before we have it finished,” Miller promises and Bellamy grunts, scowls at the back breaking work that’s already been done before walking over and leaning his full weight against one of the posts.

 

“Hopefully it’s enough to hold out the grounders.” If Miller hears the doubt in those words, he doesn’t mention it.

 

Bellamy walks the perimeter alone after sending Miller back to the chopping crew. He runs his hand over the logs, searching for weak spots when his skin snags on a splinter. It’s a small but acute pain, sharp like a needle prick and he cries out before he can stop himself.

 

He uses his nails to try and tug it free but they’re too short to get a grip on it. Then he tries pulling it out with his teeth, which only results in him pushing it deeper in.

 

A few kids watch curiously as he stomps back into camp, holding his stabbed finger to his chest. “Back to work,” he barks and they scamper like squirrels.

 

Clarke’s tent is empty when he barges in and a sudden, blinding irritation for her flares to life. _Why isn’t she around when I need her?_

 

More importantly: _Why is she the one I need?_

 

He stalks through camp, asking everyone if they’ve seen her, his finger hurting more by the second as his initial irritation starts to morph into an irrational fear that he may not find her.

 

“Hey!” Octavia appears before him. “What’s the matter?” She’s looking at the hand that’s he clutching like treasure.

 

“Nothing. Do you know where Clarke is?”

 

With a frown, Octavia reaches for him but he shrugs away, runs his hand through his sweaty hair. “She and Finn left a little while ago.” At his outraged expression, she adds, “To hunt, like you ordered.”

 

Hazy memories from earlier in the day rush back and he’s suddenly having trouble staying upright. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

He nods and blinks rapidly when the gesture nauseates him. “I’m fine,” he rasps and suddenly, scarily, he’s dizzy.

 

“Bell, what’s- oh, shit,” he hears just as he hits dirt and his vision goes black.

 

_He chases Clarke through the woods, even though she keeps disappearing, around trees, in misty clouds. Every time he gets close enough to touch her, she vanishes like a ghost called away._

He’s in his cot when he stirs, Clarke’s name dying on his tongue while a cool hand strokes his cheek. He keeps his eyes closed. He likes that hand and the smooth, practiced movement of the fingers.

 

“He’s fine, Octavia. Just sleep-deprived.”

 

“He just passed out! Fell right on his ass!” Octavia’s voice is pitched with anxiousness.

 

“That can happen when a person doesn’t get enough sleep on a daily basis,” Clarke scolds, slightly chastising even though she doesn’t know he can hear her. “Don’t worry. A good night’s rest and he’ll be back to terrorizing everyone in the morning.”

 

“Clarke, I’m not trying to question your medical know-how but this is kind of terrifying. Are you-“

 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Her fingers card through his hair, nails scraping gently on his scalp. “He’s important to me, too.”

 

He sinks back into unconsciousness then and this time its empty, heavy bliss.

 

The next time he awakes, Clarke is the only person there, sitting on the floor with several small, leaf-woven bowls spread out before her. She’s sorting plants and berries by the faint light of the moon shining through his tent and the small lantern on the floor.

 

The tiny frown between her eyes is the most familiar and welcoming sight. “Having trouble with the weeds, Princess?”

 

She snorts and barely spares him a glance. “Having trouble staying conscious?” It’s not nearly as biting as she had intended. “You freaked out everybody,” she accuses as she sits beside him on the narrow cot. She feels his forehead with the back of her hand. “Octavia said you were sick or something, before you passed out.”

 

“Oh…that. Uh…” The miniscule pain in his finger hardly seems worth mentioning now. “It was nothing.”

 

“Really?” Clarke asks. “Because Octavia told me that you were clutching your hand to your chest and that you wouldn’t show it her.”

 

He groans. “She can’t keep her trap shut.”

 

Clarke holds out her hand. “Let me see.”

 

He bites his lip for a second, glaring at her. She simply raises her eyebrows with a sigh, unimpressed by the stare others had called ‘chilling’. Begrudgingly, he removes his hand from under the blanket, palm side up. Clarke takes it in her own hands and examines it carefully, running her fingers over the lines in his palm, testing his knuckles. "What am I looking for?"

 

He wiggles his middle finger and her eyebrows draw together when she sees the tiny bit of black sticking out of his skin. "A splinter?"

 

He ducks his head as an embarrassed flush creeps up his neck. "Yea." 

 

"This is the life-or-death injury that you needed me for?"

 

"It really hurt when it happened and I tried to get the damn out myself but it's too short to bite and-shut up!"

 

"I'm sorry," Clarke says through helpless giggles. "You're right, this is very serious."

 

He tugs his hand from her grasp and tries to sit up but a wave of dizziness sends him crashing back on the bed. "Easy, tough guy. You're severely sleep-deprived and you've obviously suffered from a traumatic injury.” Her smile is wry and Bellamy grumbles the entire time that she uses tweezers to pull it out.

 

“How was hunting?” he asks after moment.

 

Clarke sighs. “Not very productive. We only caught a small rabbit.”

 

“I thought Spacewalker was supposed to be a decent tracker.”

 

Even with her head bent, he knows she rolls his eyes. “He can’t track an animal that’s not there.”

 

“Maybe he was distracted,” Bellamy mutters, failing to hide the irritation in his voice.

 

Clarke pinches the skin around the splinter extra hard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“This food issue we have is actually really serious and maybe if Finn understood that, he’d be trying a little harder to find some instead of spending the whole day flirting with you.”

 

“You’re being ridiculous; that’s not what happened.”

 

Bellamy snorts. “Sure it’s not. He pounced on you the moment he was free of his girlfriend. Smarmy asshole.”

 

“What the hell is your problem?”

 

Bellamy isn’t sure but it aches in a good way to be loud and angry, like some vile beast is clawing free from his chest. “You act like Finn is some kind of saint but he killed two kids on the dropship. I never saw a hint of remorse over that. Then he cheats on his girlfriend and you’re still looking at him like-“

 

Bellamy stops dead when Clarke glances up, sharp and furious, and with one final tug, pulls the splinter free. “Not that it’s any of your business, but nothing is happening between me and Finn.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

Clarke huffs and stands, putting enough distance between them so she can glare down at him. “And even if it did, it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

 

“It does actually. You’re supposed to be my partner. We’ve got to take care of these fucking kids and you can’t do that if you’re always running off with Finn!”

 

“Does that mean you’re going to stop screwing every girl in camp, you know, so you don’t get distracted?”

 

“I’m not doing that anymore and you know it.”

 

Clarke tastes regret. “I know.” She’d overheard a very unromantic conversation between Roma and Bellamy that had involved him turning her down in favor of checking the progress Raven was making on the bullets. Since then, she hadn’t seen anyone else leaving his tent in post-coital bliss. “But the repression of your libido doesn’t give you the right to dictate mine.”

 

He closes his eyes as she walks away.

 

Heart lodged in his throat, he swallows before speaking again. “You know Raven was devastated.”

 

At that she turns around and remorse pulls down her lips. “She was?”

 

“She saw the two of you leave together and five minutes later she was packing up her stuff, ready to walk out of camp to god knows where.”

 

“Alright Bellamy.”

 

“I had to beg her to stay.”

 

“I get it, okay! I’m a boyfriend-stealing whore and I feel like shit. Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that make you happy?”

 

There’s a tremor in her voice and Bellamy thinks he might die if she starts to cry. “I didn’t mean…it’s not your fault.”

 

“If that were true, you’d be yelling at Finn.”

 

“I don’t care about Finn. I care about you!”

 

It’s not exactly news but Clarke’s mouth still drops open. “Bellamy-“

 

He holds up a hand. The driving reason of everything he’s said to her is finally clear in his mind. “I don’t want him to hurt you.”

 

There’s a heartbeat of silence before she draws in a deep breath and sits beside him again. “That’s unexpectedly sweet of you.”

 

“Yeah, well,” he mutters. "You’re too important.” He doesn’t add _to me_.

 

Clarke’s horrified to discover that she finds his ass-backwards way of showing that he actually cares about her incredibly endearing. “I can take care of myself.”

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I know.”

 

She tenderly takes his hand, now splinter free and twines their fingers together. “But, thanks…for looking out for me.”

 

A breath, half-relieved and half-nervous, escapes him. Slowly, he rests his head against hers. “It’s what we do.”

 

IV.

 

Mount Weather leaves scars.

 

Clarke can’t look at them and Bellamy can’t stop. She runs and his heart doesn’t break. It hides, pumping in secret, holding onto a dismal hope. He stays and it bites every time he looks for her and comes up empty.

 

Sometime later, when Arkadia is starting to look like a place instead of an idea, Bellamy’s arm gets shot on a hunting trip. Lincoln and Miller carry him, half unconscious from blood loss, to Abby. She gives him something for the pain that makes him groggy. He tries to twist away from the needle as she stitches him up. Lincoln and Miller have to hold him down while Octavia whispers to him.

 

“It’s okay, big brother. You’re going to be fine.”

 

“Where’s Clarke?”

 

The room stills. The universe holds its breath. Her name has not been spoken aloud in quite some time.

 

“She’s not here, Bell. She’s-“

 

“She should be. She’s always in medical!” He tries to sit up and almost falls off the table. “Where the hell is she?”

 

“Bellamy, she’s gone. She left!” Octavia yells as she pushes him to lie back down. He closes his eyes and doesn’t open them again while Abby wraps the wound.

 

Later, he wakes and immediately looks for her. She’s never not been there.

 

But it’s not Clarke he finds. Raven has a cup of water and a plate of food as she sits beside him.

 

“Feeling better?”

 

The stiches are raw and sore and he can’t really move his arm. “No.”

 

Raven holds the cup up to his mouth and a bit of cool water dribbles down his chin. “You hungry?”

 

Bellamy shakes his head and Raven sets the food aside but remains by his side. “Octavia just left. Lincoln took her for a walk, to get some air. She was here for a long time.”  

 

“So now you’re on Bellamy watch?”

 

Raven snorts. “If that’s what you call a friend caring about whether or not you’re doing okay, then yeah, I’m on Bellamy watch.”

 

He glowers before turning away as much as he can, staring at the far wall. Raven recalls the way he’d held her when Finn died and she reaches out now, cupping the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair. He flinches then seems to relax. “Octavia said you were asking for Clarke.”

 

He goes very still. “Can’t keep anything to herself,” he mutters.

 

Raven leans close, so she can whisper in his ear. “She’ll come back, you know she will; when she’s ready, she’ll come back.”

 

After a few seconds of silence, Raven gets up to leave.

 

“I did everything she asked me to.” His voice is all war-torn and achy.

 

“I know you did.”

 

Bellamy continues as if he hadn’t heard her. “I went into Mt. Weather because she needed me to, I pulled that fucking lever so she wouldn’t have to do all the killing alone.” He wipes a hand down his face. “Why didn’t she stay? I tried so hard and I want, I need her, I…shit! I miss her…why did she leave me?”

 

Raven lies behind him, wraps her arms around his chest and lets him cry. Sobs rack his body and she holds him tighter, thankful that they are alone in the med bay. She knows it’s more than just missing Clarke, that it’s a culmination of his entire life, all the injustice he endured on the Ark and the nightmare that has been the ground working it’s way out of his heart but she keeps muttering that Clarke will come home, that’ll she’ll come back to him, that he’s not alone.

 

When he finally falls asleep, Raven kisses his cheek and pulls the blanket tight around him.

 

In his dreams, he reaches for a hand that never comes.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
